


you're not my homeland anymore

by iwearplaids



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Merlin AU, Some angst, also some, but with happy ending, it's mostly just bellamy and clarke everyone else is there as supporting characters ajhsj, there is some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwearplaids/pseuds/iwearplaids
Summary: “Don’t touch him!”Her soldiers back off at her command, equal parts scared and confused.Clarke is the picture of the powerful queen she would’ve been; weapon in her hand, rage in her eyes but nothing but calm on her face.She stands in front a shackled and bloodied Bellamy until the last soldier turns away from them and continues their trek.“Clarke, listen-”“Don’t.” She doesn’t bother to face him, doesn’t see her own heartbreak on his face. “I’ve listened to enough of your lies.”
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 17
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [this is based on the AU snippet/moodboard I posted on tumblr a while back and I wanted to write more in this verse. If you want to see the moodboard https://iwearplaids.tumblr.com/post/629807399018135552/iwearplaids-bellarke-merlin-au-amazing-ideas-i]
> 
> He can’t do this. He can’t think of how soft her hair would be and how long it’d take him to drown in her eyes. And he absolutely cannot daydream about her holding his hands, caressing his face, telling the council that she does not care about social classes, telling him that he would always have room in her life. 
> 
> He’s just her servant. 
> 
> And if that wasn’t enough, he would also be a criminal and a sinner in Clarke’s eyes if she ever found out who he really was. 
> 
> He could perfectly picture that scenario too; he’d slip and do magic in front of her, she’d pull out her sword in no time and have it at his throat, then she’d call for the guards, maybe shed a few tears for his ‘betrayal’. They would have him have him locked up in the dungeons overnight, and arrange for a public hanging at dawn. Queen Abby would be present, of course. 
> 
> “Hello, Bellamy.” 
> 
> “Princess.” he nods at her solemn expression. 
> 
> “I was thinking of arranging someone to help you out,” 
> 
> “That’d be great, but -”
> 
> “since you seem too busy to serve me breakfast.” 
> 
> Her gleaming eyes stare into his and chuckles, he can’t help nervously join in too. 
> 
> He was doomed.

“Don’t touch him!”

Her soldiers back off at her command, equal parts scared and confused.

Clarke is the picture of the powerful queen she would’ve been; weapon in her hand, rage in her eyes but nothing but calm on her face.

She stands in front a shackled and bloodied Bellamy until the last soldier turns away from them and continues their trek.

“Clarke, listen-”

“Don’t.” She doesn’t bother to face him, doesn’t see her own heartbreak on his face. “I’ve listened to enough of your lies.”

Clarke follows her soldiers deeper into the woods, knowing very well that Bellamy is but a few steps behind her. For once, she wishes he’d stick to not listening to her orders.

A week ago, they were in the same woods, just the two of them on a horse because Bellamy, being the dimwit he is, lost his horse and had to ride with her. He’d rested his chin on her shoulder, blabbered about the specie of trees around them and she had never wanted to wrap someone in the thickest fur and stay with them forever more than that moment.

_“Your hair smells nice.”_

_She tilts her head to face him, strands of her hair brushing against the tip of his nose. She swallows down the urge to kiss the biggest freckle on the tip._

_“It’s the hair lotion you brought me.” She shifts her gaze back to the path ahead of her, not wanting to make him uncomfortable._

_“I know.” He presses a smile further into her hair._

She feels like a fool now.

He probably lost his horse on purpose in an attempt to trick her into something.

* * *

_These men break into the servant’s chamber, heaves him out of his bed and drags him to the castle._

_‘Bloodshed’ is a mild word to describe what was happening._

_There is a sea of men and women with weapons swinging in the castle, but the ones in royal armor are few and far in between._

_Bellamy’s mind doesn’t want to draw the obvious conclusion to what was happening._

_He’s certain he just saw Queen Abby laying in a pool of blood, but he convinces himself that she’s not dead because he’s too busy worrying about Clarke._

_It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that if the old Queen is dead then the new Queen is in danger._

_He shudders thinking about finding Clarke laying in blood, staring into nothing. No blush on her pale cheeks. No more teasing smile. No more strong arms wielding swords._

_He can’t find the strength to take another breath._

_She died and he never got to tell her that he -_

_The men shove him through a door and he almost cries in relief._

_Clarke is scarred and looks a little out of breath, but she_ **is** _breathing and standing on her feet, fists clenched, ready for a fight._

_He notices Miller and a few other royal guards behind her, all ready to follow Clarke into battle._

_“If you think you can get away with this-” she yells, but the rogue men slam the door shut on their way out before Clarke could finish her threat._

_“Clarke,” he can’t figure out if she moved first or he did, but they’re hugging, “What’s happening?”_

_He feels her gaze on him, from head to toe, checking for injuries. She’s satisfied only when she proves to herself he’s unharmed and lightly smacks his arm._

_“You sleep like a log.”_

* * *

He knew this would happen, one day, sooner or later, she’d find out and she’d hate him. But every time she turns her face away from him, he feels like someone is ripping his heart out of his chest and stomping on it all over again.

_Rather she’s alive to hate me than be dead loving me_ , he consoles himself.

* * *

_They’re going to die in this stupid coup._

_Clarke and her stupid heroism is going to get her killed, and there is no way rest of them are running away leaving her to die alone._

_They’re spread across the room, Clarke at the center, in front of the door, Bellamy pushed behind her (“You’re not a soldier, Bell”), Miller and Murphy at her right, and Roma and Atom on her left._

_They should’ve known this flimsy plan would only hold for 2 minutes._

_Clarke and Bellamy would remember those 2 minutes as a lifetime._

_The door swings open, one of the men from earlier, he sees them ready to attack and throws a dagger at Clarke in retaliation._

_Bellamy doesn’t think twice before curling his arm around her waist, moving her out of the way while throwing his right hand up in the air. Eyes blazing, he stops the dagger in the air._

_He can almost hear everyone in the room hold their breath._

_He closes his eyes, knowing what he has to do but not wanting to see it. His outstretched arm flexes again and the dagger flies into the man’s throat._

_He thinks he hears Murphy curse. Miller moves into action, pulling the man’s body into the room, taking all the weapons they need and hiding the body._

_“Bellamy,” Clarke’s voice wavers, it’s never done that, especially with his name, “What did you do?”_

_Bellamy sees her eyes fill up and he grabs her hand._

_“We need to leave.” he swallows._

_She pulls her hand away and he feels his chest drag him down._

_“He’s right.” Miller chimes, “We need to get out of here.”_

_She nods at him and takes the sword Miller grabbed from the dead man._

_“Let’s go.” she moves out the door, swinging the sword and the rest of them at her heel “We’ll leave by the South East wing, it’s mostly deserted and exits towards Forest of Dean. Once in the woods, we’ll have a little time to work out our next move. They’re not keeping my throne for long.”_

_Bellamy almost smiles, pride in his chest before he remembers that she’s avoiding his face like a plague._

_They move through the servant’s path instead of the hallway, avoiding the remaining royal guards and coup soldiers. Where the walls grow thin, they can hear the clash of swords and the grunts and shouts of their men. They move through the servant’s path into the small tunnel that leads into the woods. He can’t see her face, but Bellamy knows it’s taking everything for Clarke to walk away from the castle and the fight without helping them._

_He loves that about her. She would make the best Queen Arkadia had ever seen._

_They step into the open grounds and Clarke slams him against a tree, sword at his throat, her soldiers draw their weapons behind her._

_“_ **What did you do?!** ” she screams at his face “What happened in there? What did you do to him?”

_He swallows nervously, knowing that he doesn’t have a right answer to give her. He knew this would happen. The moment any of them found out the truth, they’d slit his throat before he can say ‘magic’. But it hurts that Clarke is the one slamming him against the tree for all the wrong reasons._

_“It’s pretty damn clear what happened,” Murphy snarls “He’s one of those. He’s a-”_

_“Shut up, Murphy.” she looks at him with so much hurt in her eyes, like he’s the one holding a sword to her throat, “Tell me.” her voice is too soft, almost begging and for a moment Bellamy hopes that she’ll understand._

_“I’m…” he feels like he’s going to nick himself on the sword because of how hard the blood is thrumming in his throat, “I’m a sorcerer. One of them. I can do things you can’t. Do mag-”_

_“Stop. That’s enough.” she removes the sword from his throat and he sighs in relief… too soon._

_“Chain him up.” she orders Miller, turning away from Bellamy._

_Miller ignores the tears on his face and shackles his hands together._

_“This isn’t necessary.” if Bellamy is sobbing, none of them have enough energy left to bring attention to it, “Clarke-”_

_Murphy punches him across the face and knees him in the stomach when Bellamy doubles over._

_Miller moves towards them, unsure if he should help Murphy or Bellamy._

_“You lying piece of -”_

_“Don’t touch him!”_

_Her soldiers back off at her command, equal parts scared and confused._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know how to write fight scenes jshksejh if any of ya'll have any tips, feel free to drop them

_Clarke does this somedays, pretend to still be asleep when Bellamy comes to wake her up and serve breakfast so that she can hear him huff around and mother her. Sometimes, if he feels extra happy, he’d be humming tunes to songs she doesn’t know._

_But he’s extra quite today, opens the drapes and sets the table in silence, she can feel the sadness he brings into the room engulfing them._

_Clarke sits up on her bed, not waiting for Bellamy to wake her up._

_“Morning.” he greets her but it comes out almost as a question, surprised to her awake._

_“Are you okay?” when he doesn’t acknowledge her, she beckons him to sit beside her on the bed, “Tell me what happened.”_

_She doesn’t mean to, but her hand carcasses Bellamy’s face on their own accord. There is no trace of his usual smile. She wonders if she kisses him he’ll smile again._

_They’re not ones to shy away from affection, so Clarke isn’t surprised when he hugs her; laying his head on her shoulder, his breath warming her neck._

_“You’ll do better than your mother, right?”_

_She doesn’t know what made Bellamy so scared, begging that of her, but for him, she’ll do better than herself._

* * *

They trek for hours through the woods before Clarke deems it safe enough to take a rest.

The soldiers settle on the ground, exhausted by the events of the day and the sun at mast beating down on them.

Clarke orders Roma to keep watch and steps away to study the perimeter. Bellamy follows her and no one stops him, but he knows it has more to do with their trust in their Queen than their trust in him.

“How long are you going to be mad at me?”

“How long did you lie to me?”

He scoffs at that, still talking to the back of her head.

“You say that like I had a choice.”

“You did!” she yells at his face, toe to toe like they usually are, “You chose to lie to me for 5 years. I thought you were my best friend, Bellamy-”

“I am-”

“Turns out I don’t even know who you are.” her voice breaks.

“Clarke, don’t say that.” 

It comes out too low, he doubts if she heard it before walking away.

* * *

In another universe, she wouldn’t care that he was a sorcerer. She might even be awed by what he could do.

They would spend their night in the forest, laying on the thick grass and watching the stars. He would tell her that she was his moon; brightening his life and letting him see the way through the dark. She might kiss him and he’d feel whole again.

Or maybe in that universe she wouldn’t give him a second thought and drive the sword through his heart.

* * *

If she was smarter, Clarke would keep going east, to Gawant across the sea. The Godwyns would take them in, get rid of the sorcerer, keep the rest of them safe and help her reclaim her power… if she could.

But when she looks up at the darkening sky, the brightest star reminds her of the freckle on Bellamy’s nose. The same one that disappears when he scrunches his face in disgust or laughs at her poor jokes. 

So, she takes her excuse of a troop and treks towards south, to Camelot. The Pendragon’s land would keep them **all** safe.

Bellamy stays by her side, she doesn’t argue him and the other don’t question it either.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “For taking us to Camelot.”

When she doesn’t seem interested in giving a response, he continues.

“I didn’t hide the truth to hurt you. I just… ” he raises his still chained hands and shrugs, “I was just scared.

I lost my parents. And when I came to Arkadia, I lost my sister. All because of who we were. I didn’t have anybody, and then suddenly I had you. It wasn’t a lie, Clarke. You’re my best friends.” He gives her a small smile she doesn’t see, “I didn’t want to lose you too.”

“You really think I would’ve executed you?” she’s hurt that he thinks she’d disregard everything between them.

“In my defense,” he gives her a look, “You do have me in chains.”

“I needed to keep my people safe.”

“Since when am I a threat, Clarke?” he chuckles in an attempt to not breakdown again, “I’m still the same guy you called a weak squirrel because I couldn’t sleep through a rainstorm.”

Clarke smiles at that. She remembers finding Bellamy asleep on top of the armor he was polishing. She had tried to remove the metal without waking him up ~~she didn’t try too hard~~ and he had mumbled something about the cold and drooled on her. 

She feels shame in her chest.

He’s right. He is her best friend. He had accepted her deepest confessions with open arms, letting her put everything out there in the safe cocoon of his embrace.

It’s her turn to give him that safety.

“Bellamy, I-”

She hears the arrow cut through the air before seeing it. Atom goes down first, dead before he hits the ground, Roma clenches her hand around the arrow buried in her while she falls but it’s Bellamy’s scream when he falls on his knees that echoes through Clarke’s head.

She sees 3 men run towards them as she falls beside Bellamy to check on him. The arrow juts out on his lower back, piercing the muscle above his hip bone.

“I got you, Bell. I got you.” She grabs the arrow, wondering if she should leave it in or pull it out. He hisses, clearly in pain, but if she pulls it out, he’ll bleed out.

“Clarke,” he grunts, trying to catch her hands, “Clarke, go help them.”

He nods towards Murphy and Miller, who are trying to fight off the men but are evidently outmatched. It’s clear to Clarke that they are part of the coup, she’s not sure if they had followed her or found her out here but she’s going to make sure that they don’t take anything else from her today.

She hovers over him, fingers digging into the side of his face, the other hand still in his tight hold; giving her strength even when he has none.

“Go.” He says again, face scrunching in pain.

Her lips brush his forehead as she gets up, silently promising to be back quickly and pulling out her sword from its hilt.

She drives the sword through one of the men piling on Miller and rushes to help Murphy who’s struggling to fight off the bulk twice his size.

They’re clashing swords, the man on his last nerve trying to keep up with Clarke and Murphy when she sees the shadow behind him.

She registers the arrow shooting from the shadow but before she can duck, Murphy slits the man’s throat, and the arrow and the shadow man behind it throws themselves to the ground.

She blinks at the scene, confused and shaken.

The thought that it might be magic only crosses her mind when she hears Bellamy’s pained groan from behind her. She turns around to see him gasping, his shackled hands outstretched just like when he killed the man at the castle.

She doesn’t linger over the thought that this is the second man he’s killed today to protect her. All the years she spent thinking him to be her innocent servant who she will have to protect against the world, and now…

“Hey, Bell,” she wipes the sweat from his brow, taking in his ashy face, “I have to take this out.”

Bellamy whimpers when she wraps her hand around the arrow again, barely nodding through it.

When she pulls on it, it drags painfully through his muscles. Bellamy screams with his jaws clenched, a weak attempt to swallow his pain. His chest heaves, struggling to breath for a moment and he can’t tell if the wetness he feels on his face is from sweat or tears.

The last thing he knows is Clarke pressing her hands on his wound and her lips mumbling apologies against his skin. 

And then he gives up and closes his eyes.

(line break)

_“Trust me, Bellamy. I would never let you die.”_

_She’s got a cheeky grin on her face, half of it which he can’t see, blinded by the sun behind her._

_The waves are cool against his feet and Clarke is waist deep in water, calling him in. Despite how welcoming the sight is he doesn’t want to get in. He really doesn’t._

_He doesn’t know how to, nor does he want to explain to Clarke his unnatural fear of water… and his stubbornness to not learn how to swim. ~~He’s sure Clarke knows exactly how stubborn he is~~. But the thought of spending a whole day floating in her arms with nothing to worry about becomes too intoxicating for him to resist. _

_He takes another step into the water and that’s all Clarke needs to grab his arms gently pull him in until he’s got water till his hips. Not too much. Baby steps, really._

_“Kick your legs out. I’ll hold you up, I promise.” She tells him earnestly._

_Almost like she doesn’t realize she’s been holding his heart for longer than he can remember already._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no bell isn't going to d!e I'm not that evil. It's a happy, possibly more fluffy, ending I promise. 
> 
> As always, I love comments :D


	3. Chapter 3

_He feels like he’s drowning._

_He doesn’t feel scared; he feels Clarke’s warmth beside him and he knows no matter how long he drowns for, she won’t let him die._

_He hears her shout something, her loud voice rumbling through his chest. There are mumbled replies from around him, more than one voice. Are they drowning with him too?_

_Wait, no._

_He’s not drowning,_ he’s bleeding.

His mind reels as it all comes back to him.

They are not swimming in a lake.

There was a coup. Queen Abby is dead. Clarke found out he was a sorcerer. He got shot by an arrow.

The last two thoughts are followed by the realization that his whole body feels like it is on fire. The constant jolting isn’t helping either. He is vaguely aware that he is laying on someone’s lap, ~~it is Clarke, of that he is sure,~~ one hand cradling his hip and the other holding his head to her chest.

There is more jolting and this time he can’t help the painful sounds that comes from him. Clarke tightens her hold on him and shouts again.

He wants to tell her not to worry. He will be fine, he always is. She shouldn’t stress herself so much over him.

He struggles to open his eyes for a bit and then gives up. The pain of waking up is too much and drowning in warm water gives him more peace than facing his demons today.

* * *

“Can you get us there any faster?” Clarke hisses at the man maneuvering the carriage.

“If I drive any faster, the wheels will fall off, your highness.” He yells back at her.

As if to prove his point, the carriage jolts. Bellamy groans in her arms, face paling by the second. She had wrapped a piece of cloth around his hips, covering the wound, and pressed her hand against the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

They had managed to make it to the border of Camelot, dragging Bellamy between Clarke and Miller. Once inside, Murphy had sneaked off and found out where the closest healer was, and then managed to find a way for them to get there.

Murphy refused to tell them who he talked to or how he managed to find these people, and frankly, Clarke was too occupied by other things to worry about his antics.

The carriage jolts again and pain shoots up Clarke’s chest listening to Bellamy’s whimpers. She tightens the hold she has on him and studies his face; he has half his face buried against her chest, the other half that is visible is pinched in pain and his eyes flutter for a few moment, as if to wake up, and then stills again. 

“Shhh,” she moves her thumb in circles against his temple without shifting her hold, hoping it’ll bring him some calm, “you’ll be fine, you hear me? We are getting you to a healer. They’ll fix you up, good as new.”

She swallows the rest of her words, knowing that if she continued, she would break. She raises her head to the sky and begs any and all powers of the universe to not make her a liar.

* * *

The healer’s place is bigger than the ones in Arkadia but just as gloomy. Miller goes ahead into the two storey house to find the healer, Nyko, while Murphy deals with the carriage man.

A small boy rushes out of the place, takes one look at Clarke and the half lifeless body in her arms and shouts.

“This way, hurry!” he beckons her in, leading the way into the house through mazes of rooms and tables.

Clarke carries Bellamy in; despite him being taller, he fits in her hold. 

The boy leads her to miller and the man Clarke assumes is Nyko, they rush her into a room at the end of the hallway.

Nyko clears out a table, covers it with a white sheet and gestures for her to lay Bellamy on it. Clarke worries when she sees the sheet instantly redden from his blood. Despite all her efforts, she couldn’t help him. 

Here he was, bleeding out (and possibly dying) and the last memory he has of her is of her dragging him in chains. Guilt eats up at her when she realizes that his last thought was that she wanted him executed. 

Of all the time they’d spent together, taking care of each other, it’s the one time that they’re on bad terms that he decides to put himself at death’s doorstep. 

Worst of all for Clarke, she never got to tell him that she loves him. That she is **_in love_** with him. 

In love with the way he smiles, in love with the freckles that make constellations across his skin, in love with his eyes telling her things others couldn’t with their words, in love with his heart. 

_His heart_. 

“You need to leave.” Nyko commands her. 

He has Bellamy turnt on his side, shirt and Clarke’s makeshift bandage cut open, dabbing the blood clean with a wet rag. 

Clarke nods, almost gagging at the sight of his gaping wound, but she doesn’t want to leave. 

“Bellamy,” she whispers in his ears, wiping the sweat from his now pale forehead. She wants to tell him so many things she knows she doesn’t have time for, “You can’t die. Queen’s orders, okay?” 

She presses her lips to his curls one last time.

* * *

_They’re cuddled up in the corner of her balcony, his arms wrapped around her from behind and she is half sitting on his lap. The sky is gloomy, on the verge of monsoon rain, just how Clarke loves it._

_“You make a good couch.” Her comment is nonchalant as she sighs in contentment._

_He hums into her hair, equally happy to just be sitting here._

_“Hey! Did you listen to me?” she smacks his knee playfully, “I just called you useless.”_

_“Uhmm. But I’m your useless couch that spends his day in a castle.”_

_She throws her head back and laughs at that, leaning into his chest. He is pretty sure what he said wasn’t a least bit funny, but he isn’t one to complain about a happy princess in his arms._

* * *

If a dragon chewed his limbs and spat him out, it’d have been less painful for him. 

He can feel hands on him, poking and pulling at his skin. He wants to tell whoever it is to bugger off. He was never much comfortable with people who get touchy with him.

He barely has enough energy to roll his eyes behind closed lids, much less speak words, so he welcomes the darkness again.

* * *

He feels a hand on him again, this time it’s familiar and comfortable. Clarke has his right hand between both of hers, her voice a constant thrumming through his chest as she speaks to him… or someone else.

He isn’t sure of a lot of things at the moment.

* * *

_He’s wrapping a gauze around her bicep, a little too harshly than necessary, wondering why they even bother._

_The brat princess does whatever she wants._

_“You could’ve gotten killed,” he wraps another layer of cloth over it, “Do you even understand that? I know you want to save everyone, Clarke but do you ever think about what happens to them if you die?”_

_She can see the rage rolling off of him in waves as he ties a knot to hold the bandage together._

_“You’re wrong.”_

_“What?” he hisses at her._

_“You did it wrong,” she points at his hard work, a light smirk playing on her lips, “maybe you should’ve thought to call a real doctor.”_

_Any other royal member would have his head three feet away from his body for the glare he gives her._

* * *

It has been a day and a half since Nyko stitched up Bellamy. The wound wasn’t as life endangering as they thought it was. Bellamy being dehydrated and tired was the bigger issue. Nyko assured them he’d be fine, even if he takes time to fully wake up.

And Bellamy had woken up a couple of times, only to open his eyes, see Clarke by his side and promptly fall back into slumber.

She hasn’t left his side since Nyko let her in. Doesn’t want to leave his side ever gain, if she’s being honest.

And she doesn’t want to go a day without telling him that she loves him.

She shouldn’t have wasted all these years not telling him she loves him, she loves him enough that he never had to hide himself or his believes. She would never harm him. He had to know someone loved him enough to put his life above everything else.

She holds Bellamy’s hand between both hers and brings it to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“Wake up, Bellamy.” She pleads.

“Alright, your highness.”

“Bellamy!” she moves to hold his face, smile already plastered on her face.

“Hey, princess.” His eyes are glossed over, forehead pinched in discomfort but the smile on his face is blissed out. “What happened?”

“You got shot by an arrow.” She strokes her thumb across his cheek.

“An arrow? One?” he groans “Why do I feel like an army stomped on me?”

“Your typical theatrics,” she smiles at him, relieved that though there is tiredness on his face, it is no longer pale as it was when she feared if he’d live,“Nyko said your body is exhausted.”

“Nyko?”

“Long story.”

He hums as she continues stroking his face.

When his eyes meet hers again, he looks apprehensive. Bellamy grabs her hand, fidgeting with it for a moment.

“So…” he casts his eyes down to their joined hands, “have you forgiven me yet?”

Bellamy shifts a little and grimaces, probably in discomfort of his still sore wound, and Clarke notices her favorite freckle on his nose. The one that disappears when he laughs or scrunches his face.

She doesn’t know how one little brown dot can carry so much emotion.

She leans over and presses a kiss to the freckle, before she can think too much about what she is doing, she gives another kiss to the tip of his nose. And his cheeks. And the corner of his eyes.

There is a keening noise from under her before Bellamy grabs her face and crashes his lips to hers. She loses herself in him; she can feel his love, his devotion and his… _magic_ pouring through his kiss.

It is a very _Bellamy_ kiss, passionate and unplanned.

And she misses it even before it’s over.

“I love you.” She whispers, only for him, resting her forehead on his, both a little out of breath with cheeky smiles plastered across their face.

Bellamy answers by grabbing her face and kissing her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far!! and I love comment.... just saying <3

**Author's Note:**

> no editing, no beta, we die like Bellamy
> 
> PS: the whole story is written, I just wanted to split it into chapters and spread it out
> 
> also plis leave comments :D


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